


i've seen this film before

by ensorcel



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Femslash, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ensorcel/pseuds/ensorcel
Summary: Andrea left five months ago. Now, she's across the room from Miranda at an event that she doesn't want to be at. It's New Year's Eve and anything can happen.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 21
Kudos: 171
Collections: "evermore" & "folklore" New Year's Eve Exchange





	i've seen this film before

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bringmayflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmayflowers/gifts).



> this is for this fic exchange with [bringmayflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringmayflowers) and [zigostia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigostia), of which we were to write two stories to songs from taylor swift's album "evermore" and "folklore". we also spent, like absolute idiots, a solid couple minutes debating just what time to post these fics at. so, here it is, a lil gay story to end off this hellfire of a year. enjoy <3

Andrea left five months ago. To be accurate, the correct term would’ve been “broken up”, but Miranda wasn’t sixteen anymore and if she was completely honest—but she didn’t really tell herself this—it was more like a heartbreak more than anything else, because even though Miranda was still married, even if she was her former assistant, even with all these things, Miranda had really hoped that it’d work out, that it was something that would last—she even had her divorce proceedings underway. 

But here she was, on New Year’s Eve at some stupid correspondent’s party, where she was expected because Elias Clarke’s largest donors and partners and hotshots and all these men that thought they knew anything about fashion or the industry or business in general were here and instead of being at home, with her daughters, watching the ball drop, Miranda was decked out in a black dress listening to stupid men bore her with everything from budgets to jokes to hands that were too close for comfort. 

Miranda grabbed another drink from a server because even though she normally didn’t drink at these things, it was long day and it was a long year and it was a long week and there was nothing less than she wanted to be here and even Nigel was on the other side of the room and her useless assistant was right behind her, latching onto every single word these incompetent men were saying and Miranda was just about to down a shot before someone caught her eye. 

She nearly froze. 

Andrea was on the arm of some laughing businessman, barely covered by a navy blue mini-dress that just hit her thighs and her hair was all bundled up in an elegant do and she laughing at something the man was saying and Miranda wanted to punch him, wanted to sweep through and interrupt their surely-stupid conversation until she remembered what Andrea had said to her last and turned her head back to Patrick O’Connolly, a man that funded a quarter of Runway’s budget alone. 

_Miranda, you aren’t trying._

_I can’t take this anymore._

_That’s no longer my job, Miranda. I don’t think you understand that._

She should’ve called after her. Should’ve ran into the street like one of those unrealistic, stupid romantic comedies that she hated and grabbed Andrea’s arm and told her to stay. Told her that things would get better because they would, because that was something that Miranda just made happen, that it would be worth it. 

But Miranda didn’t say any of those things and now Andrea was on the other side of the room, on the arm of another man and Miranda had a philandering husband across the city and two young girls at home and stuck at this ridiculous party and too sober. 

She excused herself and ordered a scotch from the bar even though she knew better. Even though that this was a work event and she should’ve been out the door fifteen minutes ago but this was a big one and this was one of the times where Miranda Priestly really didn’t have a choice, so she was waiting here at the bar, staring the back of a woman that she knew so well for seven months, from her lips to her hands to her legs to the way she laughed, to the way she smiled, and how Miranda though her blush was the most beautiful thing in the world. 

“Here you are, Ms. Priestly,” the bartender said, handing her the heavy class. Miranda swished it around a little, hearing the ice clink against the glass. From across the room, Nigel gave her a quick look that screamed “help me!” and she just rolled her eyes but swept her way over, insisting that they had important business information to talk about. 

“God, thank you,” he said with a sigh of relief. “I thought I was going to hear her jabber on about his new enterprise into the next goddamn decade.” 

Miranda just hummed and swirled her glass. And checked the clock. It was still half an hour to midnight—half an hour until she could leave. 

Andrea caught her eye once again and Miranda told herself resolutely that she wouldn’t look again. Wouldn’t glance once more. 

_No wonder you had three husbands._

_I don’t think you know what I’m giving up here._

_Don’t call me._

Nigel gave her a weird stare but Miranda ignored it. 

Andrea flitted around the room on the arm of that admittedly handsome young man that screamed daddy’s money, with his expensive suit that no person that young could afford on their own, coupled with the fact that he basically gripped onto Andrea’s back and Miranda took another drink, nearly knocking the whole whiskey back until Nigel stopped her. 

“Whoa there,” he chastised, frowning. “You know, if you need to spit it out, you should.” 

Miranda knew he wasn’t referring to the alcohol. She just looked at him. 

“I don’t want to spit it out,” she replied, dragging out the last few words. Nigel just held his hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, but it’s your funeral,” he said, walking off to talk to another donor that Miranda had neglected to speak to and didn’t quite want to. 

Her funeral indeed, she thought as she saw that Andrea’s dress was backless. 

She shook her head and decided that she needed some fresh air, heading for the balcony. The doors were already open and there were a couple of people smoking—Miranda had the very sudden craving for a cigarette now—but they all cleared out once Miranda walked in and she asked one of the women for a stick and a light and she just nervously complied and Miranda took a drag for the first time in almost a decade, breathing out into the cold, winter air of New York City, watching the cars drive by in the streets below and strangers scamper along in the chill. 

She stood there, with her scotch in her left hand and cigarette in her right, watching the lights of apartments flicker on and off, of the skyline, of the stars that she couldn’t see because there was just too much pollution, until she heard footsteps from behind her and she was tempted to just lash out and tell them to leave her the _fuck_ alone because it was New Year’s Eve and goddamnit, couldn’t she just get a little peace coming into the New Year? 

“Those are awful for you,” a voice said. Miranda just took another drag. 

“It’s New Year’s Eve. Give me a break,” Miranda said. The words were sharp, but her tone was tired. Suddenly, it was as if the weight of the world had dropped on her shoulders. She turned around to face Andrea.

“Cancer-sticks, you know they used to call them?” Andrea just commented, leaning over the railing. Miranda just nodded, flicking the ash off. She also grabbed the scotch out of Miranda’s hand, taking a sip herself. “God, this is strong.” 

“It’s scotch, Andrea,” Miranda replied, as if it was obvious, because honestly, it was. 

Andrea turned to look at her, to really look at her. Miranda just held her head up high and took another drag. 

“It’s good to see you,” she said at last. 

_This isn’t working, Miranda._

_Let me go_

_I’m sorry._

“Is it?” 

“Yeah.” 

They both stared out at the city, Miranda smoking and Andrea drinking. Miranda could hear the countdown from inside the room. It was cold out but Miranda wasn’t cold. Andrea was pressed up against her. 

If she listened carefully enough, she could hear the crowd from Times Square, could almost see the ball drop. The fireworks were going off now, shrouding the entire city in its bright lights. Andrea looked at them in awe. 

“Five, four, three,” the room chanted and all Miranda could see was Andrea. “Two, one!” 

She pulled Andrea close, her arm around her back, close enough to feel her warmth, to brush Andrea’s hair out of her face right before she kissed her and Andrea tasted like the scotch that they were both drinking, Miranda’s cigarette, a little of strawberries and whipped cream, and also a little like lipstick but mainly it was _Andrea_ that she was kissing, the woman that had left five months ago and she was kissing back and the weight had lightened, just a little from her shoulders, and Andrea was kissing her back—

“Happy New Year,” Andrea whispered against her lips, even though Miranda was still married, even though she had clearly come here with another man. 

“Happy New Year,” Miranda replied, holding her close as they watched the fireworks. 

The lights were reflected in Andrea’s eyes and all Miranda felt was hope. 

**FIN.**

> _“I think I've seen this film before_
> 
> _And I didn't like the ending_
> 
> _You're not my homeland anymore_
> 
> _So what am I defending now?_
> 
> _You were my town, now I'm in exile, seein' you out_
> 
> _I think I've seen this film before_
> 
> _So I'm leavin' out the side door.”_
> 
> —“exile”, Taylor Swift ft. Bon Iver

**Author's Note:**

> not to get too cheesy in this author's note here, but i'd just like to thank you all for reading, commenting, and kudoing on my works. it means so much to me and i hope that 2021 is kinder, warmer, and a hell of a lot better than 2020 was for everyone. happy new year's eve (almost there, almost there!) and i hope this year brings better things for each and every one of you. 
> 
> mwah, bonnie


End file.
